


ghost choir

by gayprophets



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Character Study, Crying, Found Family, Grief/Mourning, Mentions of Ned, Mother's Day, Parental Death, Post-Canon, Road Trips, Sad, oh god guys theres so many tears dkjhsdjhfsjdh, so like obvs theres spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-12-07 19:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20981066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayprophets/pseuds/gayprophets
Summary: One of Mama’s thick eyebrows twitches downwards slightly. “What’re you doin’ with Barclay’s truck?” she asks. Her voice is loaded with something that is quickly dipping into concern. “It’s always okay to borrow our shit, of course, but where’re you goin’?”Aubrey sighs and looks away, out across the parking lot of the Sunoco, resting her chin on the steering wheel, her hands loosely gripping the bottom of it. It’s barely six in the morning, and it’s chilly for May; the grass is pale in the field on the other side of the street from them and almost blue-grey in the early dawn light, covered in dew. She doesn’t want to be going anywhere. She shuts her eyes.“...Hey,” Mama says, and Aubrey realizes she’s gone too long without answering. “What’s goin’ on? Are you okay?”“I… yeah,” Aubrey replies, eyes still shut. “I’m fine.” Her voice cracks. “It’s Mother’s Day.”-Aubrey goes on a roadtrip to her hometown with Mama. A story about grief and family - both found and blood.





	ghost choir

**Author's Note:**

> requested by an anon on tumblr. thank you anon, you rock. i hope this is what you wanted.

Someone knocks on the window of Barclay’s truck and Aubrey jumps so hard she’s shocked she doesn’t hit her head on the roof, startling awake with a yelp and accidentally blaring the horn. She wasn’t asleep, she just… wasn’t awake.

Aubrey looks over and sees Mama peering in through her window, one hand still up like she might knock again. It’s been a few months since Aubrey's seen her last - she’s come over for dinner a few times since they’ve gotten the new gate working, but things got busy in Sylvain - turns out being the _ physical manifestation of a goddess _ comes with more work than just wandering the planet, setting things to rights. In the interim, Mama’s cut her previously mid-back length hair short, the thick stone grey curls just long enough to tuck behind her ears now, the sides and back grown out about an inch from being shaved down. It doesn’t make her look older or younger, just _ different. _ Aubrey has to blink at the change for a few seconds before she gets it together enough to roll down the window. 

“Hey,” she says, trying for cheery and missing by a mile. “Nice hair.”

Mama smiles at her. “Thanks,” she says, leaning down and putting her elbows in the window. “Got tired of braidin’ it all the time, so I took a page outta your book - used to just buzz it when I wanted it short. Jake says it makes me look edgy.”

Aubrey smiles, but she can feel her mouth struggling a little with it at the corners. “You do! It’s a good look.”

One of Mama’s thick eyebrows twitches downwards slightly. “What’re you doin’ with Barclay’s truck?” she asks. Her voice is loaded with something that is quickly dipping into concern. “It’s always okay to borrow our shit, of course, but where’re you goin’?”

Aubrey sighs and looks away, out across the parking lot of the Sunoco, resting her chin on the steering wheel, her hands loosely gripping the bottom of it. It’s barely six in the morning, and it’s chilly for May; the grass is pale in the field on the other side of the street from them and almost blue-grey in the early dawn light, covered in dew. She doesn’t _ want _ to be going anywhere. She shuts her eyes.

“...Hey,” Mama says, and Aubrey realizes she’s gone too long without answering. “What’s goin’ on? Are you okay?”

“I… yeah,” Aubrey replies, eyes still shut. “I’m fine.” Her voice cracks. “It’s Mother’s Day.”

Mama puts a hand on her shoulder. “Oh, kiddo,” she says quietly, almost a sigh. Aubrey leans into the touch, hot compared to the cool air from outside rolling in through the window, her thin shirt doing little to ward it off. It’s always warmer on Sylvain than it is on Earth. Mama is wearing a long sleeved grey shirt and a fleece lined vest, because she dresses more practically than Aubrey does. Aubrey doesn’t cry; she’s been crying on and off for a while now and she thinks she might be all cried out, wrung dry like a sodden dishrag. 

“I’m going home,” Aubrey says. “Well, not really. But my hometown, anyways. Gonna… leave some flowers on her grave or something. I’ll be back tonight or tomorrow.”

“How far away is that?” Mama asks, squeezing her shoulder. “I know it’s Kentucky, but it’s a big state.”

“Almost 7 hours,” she replies, peeling her eyes open.

“Kid, you don’t look fit to drive 7 _ minutes.” _ Mama tells her. Her fingers unerringly find a muscle knot in Aubrey’s trapezius and start working at it.

“I know.” It’s grey and foggy today, the clouds hanging low to the earth. It’s hard to see up either side of the road, and taking the funicular up to the lodge had been claustrophobic - stuck inside a little bubble of dense white air, nothing all around but the tracks. “I was sitting here trying to get it together.”

It’s quiet for a minute, Aubrey looking into the middle distance, feeling the weight of Mama’s gaze buzzing against the side of her face. 

“D’you want company?” she asks finally, her voice pitched low and gentle.

Aubrey hums tunelessly, thinking.

“Do you want me to come with you?” Dani had asked a two days ago, in their new room in the castle. Aubrey had tried for an apartment while they were taking a break from breathing the world back to life, not wanting to give the impression that she was above anybody else, but with everyone recovering from their brush with the Quell and so few homes rebuilt there really wasn’t any room. She stroked a hand down Aubrey’s back, the other hand in her hair, Aubrey’s head rested on her lap, nose brushing her stomach. She’d remembered the date over on Earth and had lost it immediately, not even understanding why at first, and then with creeping horror - oh. It’s May 8th, and soon it’ll be _ May 10th. _

“I -,” Aubrey started, then cut herself off. “I don’t know. I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Both of their voices were still thick, because the second Aubrey had started crying Dani did too, both of them sobbing together, Dani trying and failing to keep it together by taking huge, hitching breaths as she folded Aubrey down to tuck her face into Dani’s shoulder, settling them both back on to the bed.

“It’s _ okay,” _ Dani said, her voice shaking a bit. “You don’t have to know right now. It’s okay. I’m happy with whatever will make the most sense for you.”

Aubrey had missed it last year - nobody was allowed to leave Kepler, so she’d forced herself to just… not think about it. Pretend it was any other date, not remember anything like waking up at 5:30 in the morning to bake chocolate chip pancakes and watch her father slice careful roses out of strawberries. Not remember carrying a little TV tray into the bedroom with cards and gift bags tucked under their arms, gently wake her mother up. Not remember how she’d swat at them at first, grumpy, stuff her head under the pillow, then sit up slow, rub her eyes, smile at them like the sun crests the horizon in the morning: effortless, inevitable, beautiful and shining. _You two,_ she’d say, shaking her head and laughing, hauling Aubrey in by the arm to kiss her on the cheek, soft as the butter melting over the steaming pancakes. The whole_ ignore it_ plan worked pretty well, because Kepler was halfway to a warzone at the time. If she wanted to think about something else, all she’d have to do is talk to - or, hell, even _look_ _at_ Minerva for two seconds. 

She couldn’t not think about it on Sylvain. Every blooming flower - _ would Mom like how this one smells? _ Every regrown tree - _ Mom always liked birches. _ Every bubbling brook and grassy knoll - _ Mom would have liked to have a picnic here. _

It wasn’t _ fair. _

She and Dani sat - well, Dani sat, Aubrey laid - in the choking silence for a while, Dani still rubbing Aubrey’s back in soothing strokes, Aubrey breathing wetly into Dani’s skirt. Dani had taken to wearing entirely Sylvan garments once they moved back over - other than Aubrey’s clothes. That day she was wearing a light and airy ankle length wrap skirt in all shades of yellows and oranges, and one of the old ACDC shirts Duck had given Aubrey. Sashes were a big thing on Sylvain currently, for reasons _ well _ beyond Aubrey’s comprehension, and so Dani had tied one of her trans pride flags into one. They’d been preparing to go out, so it lay crumpled on the floor beside the bed. Aubrey felt kind of bad for it, it didn’t deserve to be forgotten like that. Dani’s combination of Earthen and Sylvan fashion usually got her some odd looks as she went down the street, but she didn’t seem to mind. 

“I think,” Aubrey said finally, forcing herself to sit up, so she could look at Dani. “I - I should go alone this time. Her birthday is - _ was,” _ she corrects, voice wobbling dangerously again, which made Dani’s lower lip tremble, “In June. You could - if you wanted - come then.” She cupped Dani’s cheeks in her palms, using her thumbs to wipe her tears away, the skin under her red-rimmed eyes soft and smooth like silk. 

“I do,” Dani replied immediately, nodding and putting her hands atop of Aubrey’s, leaning in and kissing her on the bridge of her nose, her forehead, her cheeks. “I’d love to, sweetness. I’ll keep the bed warm for you, okay?”

“Okay,” Aubrey had said, voice breaking again, and they curled back into each other, both lying down this time, Dani pressing Aubrey as close to her as possible like she might be able to turn them into one cohesive person if she holds tight enough.

“I love you,” Dani said, sniffling. “I _ love _ you. I’m so sorry it hurts. I _ wish _ I could take it away and feel it for you.”

“I know,” Aubrey said, pressing her forehead against Dani’s, breathing in the distinct incense smell that she gives off now without the ring to mask it, shutting her eyes against the nightlight golden glow of Dani’s skin. “I know. I love you too.”

In the present, Aubrey mumbles, “I didn’t invite Dani.”

“I’m not Dani,” Mama replies, still scared-animal soft. “You ain’t betrayin’ her somehow by havin’ me along.”

_ Am I not? _ Aubrey wants to say, but doesn’t. “What will you do with your truck?” she asks, gesturing vaguely towards Mama’s black Tacoma.

“Barclay’ll get it,” she replies, clearly sensing that Aubrey’s giving in. “Shift over while I call him, alright? I can drive.”

There’s another silence, this one tired. Aubrey, if she’s absolutely honest with herself, doesn’t want to do this alone. She pictures walking up to her mother's grave by herself and shudders.

“Fine,” she says, popping the door open. Mama chucks her under the chin and sets off towards the payphone.

Even though Aubrey’s only been in the car for 15 minutes it feels more like it’s been hours, her joints cracking as she hops down. She watches Mama at the phone booth as she pops in quarters, running one hand through her hair as she talks, occasionally glancing back over her shoulder like she thinks Aubrey is about to bolt. She hangs up the phone and tosses the keys under the seat, seemingly comfortable with leaving the truck unlocked. It’s an odd Kepler quirk Aubrey’s never quite gotten used to, having everything unsecured, but she hasn’t heard of any robberies in the time she’s been here. Mama’s pushing her seat back a bit, because Aubrey’s a good four inches shorter than her, adjusts the mirrors. _ Must have been too busy having major things wrong for petty crimes, _ Aubrey thinks. Kepler never does anything by half measure.

They don’t talk for a while, and Aubrey’s oddly reminded of that first drive to Kepler after she’d set the hotel in Snowshoe on - on fire. She can smell burning insulation and switches to breathing through her mouth until it goes away. It’d been pretty quiet then too, just the occasional _ click-click-click _ of Mama’s turn signal, the grumble of tires on asphalt, the soothing lullaby of being on the road. Aubrey’s hard pressed not to fall asleep to it right now.

Mama points at the glovebox. “Barclay’s usually got some CD’s in there,” she says. “If you wanna put on some music.”

Aubrey takes the implied order and pops it open - Britney Spears, Vengaboys, Lewis Capaldi, Janelle Monáe. She picks Janelle Monáe, because even though she’s _ feeling _ very Lewis Capaldi currently, she knows Mama will give her a _ look. _ She won’t be able to handle a _ look _ right now.

Mama taps her fingers to the beat of the songs, her wedding band flashing gold as the sun starts to crack through the clouds. The world blurs by outside in a haze of pearl-grey and thick green.

“Are your parents -,” Aubrey bursts out suddenly, startling both Mama and herself, because she hadn’t really expected to say anything either. “Are your parents still alive?”

Mama glances over at her, her expression unreadable. “No,” she says. “My mom’s long gone now, and my dad was never in the picture. Stranger at a bar or somethin’, I think. No name on my birth certificate.” 

“I’m sorry,” Aubrey says.

“‘S alright. Didn’t need him, and as I said, long time ago. It’ll be 23 years this September.”

Aubrey has a lot of questions poised on the tip of her tongue - she’s suddenly consumed by the desire to know everything, down to the last detail, _ how did it happen _ and _ how did you find out _ and _ were you there when it happened _ and _ what was the funeral like _ and _ do you remember the weather? _

“Does it ever get easier?” she asks instead.

Mama rubs her jaw. “It gets quieter,” she offers. “It gets smaller. I can fold it up and put it away nowadays, take it out when I want to.”

Aubrey nods, goes to snap her fingers so she can pass her little flame from hand to hand before thinking better of it and settling for picking at her nails. She can feel the thrum of Sylvain building up in her chest, a mournful sort of vibration, an impression of an apology.

Most of the time, she thinks she’s forgiven Her. No amount of howling at the world raging brings anyone back, after all - just uses up her own energy.

Aubrey remembers how it happened, how she found out, what the funeral was like, the weather. She’s seen it again, through Sylvain’s eyes - her body lifting up like a wraith, weightless and aglow with fury. The houses beams crashing down - the fire marshals in court said they’d never seen such damage, such total destruction - it was a building left to burn for hours rather than minutes. Boyd Moshe looking at her while she was on the witness stand with terror in his eyes that she didn’t understand at the time, tensing when she gestured. The mortician’s quiet, plain voice: her mother had suffocated in the smoke. Small mercies. 

She’d asked in the hospital after she’d woken up, _ where’s my mom? _ And when the nurse didn’t reply immediately, she’d _ known, _ sat back into her pillow.

_ Oh, _ she said, _ okay. _

The day of the fire had been sunny and average and the night had been full of stars and _ average _ and weather during the funeral was _ utterly unremarkable, _ a little cloudy in the morning but full sun by high noon, burned crisp into her memory forever. A day with nothing special other than the fact that she kissed smooth wood rather than her mother’s forehead - closed casket - tossed dirt into the grave, very carefully not panicking until she locked herself in the bathroom that night and screamed into her palms until her father picked the lock on the door.

Aubrey thinks that somewhere in her mind, she’s still screaming like that, crouched on cool tile flooring in her grandmother's house, wailing into her own hands. She thinks she’ll never be able to stop.

“How’s everyone at the lodge?” she asks later, as they’re getting onto the interstate. 

“Oh, they’re great,” Mama says with a fond grin, checking over her shoulder before merging. “Barclay’s always good, ‘course.” She glances down at her ring and her smile changes a little to something softer, sweeter, then she looks back at the road. “Moira’s started playin’ piano for the kids community theatre when they have shows, and Jake’s really enjoyin’ his job at Hollis ‘n Keith’s new park - that thing took off in a big way. He’s even makin’ enough money to move out. Not that he will, wouldn’t be good for him to live all by his lonesome. They’re gettin’ married, by the way! Hollis and Keith, I mean.”

“Holy _ shit, _ really?” Aubrey asks. “Good for them!”

“Right?” Mama remarks. _ “Crazy _ fuckin’ kids. Hollis’ ring’s got a rock that could put your eye out, too.”

Mama spends the next hour or so catching Aubrey up on the latest happenings, and it’s - nice. Distracting. She hadn’t expected any enjoyment out of this trip. Mama’s got a gallery opening in a few months that Aubrey and Dani are both invited to, if they can take time out of their busy schedules to watch her and Barclay act like rich eccentrics for an evening.

“Are you _ not _ rich eccentrics already?” Aubrey asks, and Mama cackles.

“You ain’t seen nothin’ yet, kiddo,” she says. “We’re _ obnoxious. _ Barclay sews his own dresses for it, makes me a matchin’ tie like we’re goin’ to a damn _ prom. _ He looks beautiful though.” She gives someone the most passive-aggressive thumbs up Aubrey’s ever seen out the window as they decide to quit tailgating and just pass her. “How’s it goin’ with you and Dani?”

Horribly, Aubrey’s eyes flood with tears again as she realizes how much she wishes Dani was here to hold her hand - it was a mistake, she thinks, to leave her behind, but not one she can fix now. She talks through it though, with minimal amounts of crying. They’re doing good, really, truly good. They’ve had a few somewhat tense discussions but don’t fight or argue, Aubrey’s taking cooking classes and Dani’s thinking about going to university, either to hone in on her art or learn more about plants, she's not sure yet. They’re comfortable and safe and Dani’s happier than Aubrey’s ever seen her, literally and metaphorically aglow with it. 

Aubrey’s happy too. It’s hard not to be happy around Dani. They know how to love each other. They settle back into silence again, more comfortably this time.

-

She wakes up to Mama’s hand on her shoulder, parked at a rest stop. She looks at the clock - she’s slept for nearly five hours.

“Fuck,” Aubrey mumbles. “Sorry.”

“No worries,” Mama replies. “You needed it. I do need directions now, though.”

Aubrey doesn’t know how to get there from here, so she puts it into her phone’s GPS as they walk into the rest stop. Her phone is aglow with the hot red of unopened messages and missed calls, which she ignores because she genuinely does not know where to_ begin. _ It’s _ overwhelming. _ Her father would tell her to do something like _ break it into chunks, go through it all a bit at a time, _ but she’s never been very good at that.

It’s sunny in Kentucky, hotter too, a breeze kicking up around them, ruffling Mama’s hair and blowing Aubrey’s vest open. Aubrey never stopped wearing earth clothes, although she did try on some things when they first moved in to the castle. She’d looked in the mirror at herself, elegant and stately with the typical long sleeved, loosely fitted white shirt and many layered wrap skirt tied high up around her waist and brushing about her ankles, an outfit worn regardless of gender, and her first thought had been_ pretty, _ followed closely by _ I don’t look like myself. _ The skirt had gone to Dani - who looks _ much _ better in it than Aubrey had - and the shirt has gotten recycled into many outfits since then, such as this one: paired with high waisted black jeans, her combat boots, the armored vest from Heathcliff. 

Mama had given these boots to her, she remembers, splashing water on her face in the bathroom, washing her hands thoroughly so she can put colored contacts in - its not a problem on Sylvain, and folks in Kepler don’t tend to look too close, but _ bright orange eyes _ make people do double-takes sometimes, she’d gotten one on the way in, and it’s attention she’d to better to not attract. 

Aubrey had stopped to chat with Mama right after Duck had walked out - all dramatic, she’d rolled her eyes at him, who does this guy think he is? _ I’m gonna go take back what’s mine, _ good _ lord, _ Aubrey had thought _ she _ was a performer. Mama had taken one look at her clothes and said _ kiddo, you’re gonna get all torn up if you go fightin’ monsters in shorts. _

Aubrey looked down at herself - black shorts, vest, black t-shirt from the production of Bye Bye Birdie she’d teched for, her beat up converses, and said _ you know what? That’s fair! _

She blinks at herself in the mirror, and there’s some weird vertigo over the change, but it fades quickly. She looks more like her mother now, which makes her quickly look away from the mirror and rush back to the truck.

Mama had gone up into some attic crawl space and dug out a Tupperware with Aubrey hanging out in the background, unsure of how to help but positive that waiting for the stuff to be brought down to her was the wrong move. 

“Here we go,” Mama said, dropping the box in front of her and kneeling down beside it. Aubrey sat, because the floor _ definitely _ had splinters in it and she was, after all, wearing shorts. 

“Some of this stuff oughta fit you,” Mama said, popping off the opaque turquoise top, which had _ Spare Clothes - Pine Guard _ written on it in what she knows now to be Barclay’s looping script. “We used to have a couplea members who were beanpoles like you, way back when. What size shoe d’ya got?”

“Nine,” Aubrey replied as Mama lifted out a few wool sweaters. They had dried out lumps of soap between them, smelling of dusty lavender. Aubrey picked up one of them and raised an eyebrow.

“Keeps the moths out,” Mama said by way of explanation, rifling through the rest of the clothes. “Barclay thinks so, anyways. These should fit you. You got jeans, right? Not skinny ones, regular jeans. And a long sleeved shirt? Not baggy or restrictin’ is the ideal.” She pulled out a pair of black boots, lightly scuffed. “Try these on,” she directed.

“Yes to the jeans,” Aubrey said, pulling off her sneakers and stuffing her feet into the boots, struggling a little with the fuzzy, felted together laces. “No to the shirt.” She stood up and they actually fit surprisingly well, comfortable even though they were slightly off - something that had broken in with someone else's body now being stretched to accommodate hers. “They fit.”

“Trade ya,” Mama said, holding out a thin black long sleeved shirt that looked like it probably came from L.L. Bean or some such place. “I’ll polish ‘em up for you and give you new laces. We can shop for some better stuff for you after this whole thing shakes out, if you want.”

Mama had disappeared instead, but Aubrey stayed anyways. And, shockingly, Mama remembered her offer when she came back: Aubrey went into winter with a closet full of warm clothes and a couple of _ monster hunting outfits _ \- thick jeans and utilitarian belts, stuff that wouldn’t wear out on her for years and years. 

The boots fit her now, anyways, bent free from someone else’s feet and moulded into her own. They’re so comfortable sometimes she forgets she has them on.

Aubrey picks some of the day-lilies and black-eyed-susans in the gardens outside the rest stop while Mama buys them both snacks. The stems prickle into her palms and she asks Sylvain _ keep these fresh please. _ The thrum builds in her chest in response, and she gets another vague impression of agreement and apology. 

“Stop being _ sorry,” _ Aubrey says aloud, and Sylvain quiets, but the feeling still burns in her chest, just behind the Flamebright pendant.

-

The graveyard is as Aubrey remembers it from the last time she visited - quiet, but not unpopulated. The rows are neat and orderly and peppered with the occasional American flag, and a few people walk around with strollers or hand in hand. Obviously expensive flowers pop in explosions of colors around the headstones, and Aubrey grips her little bouquet tighter. Mama puts a hand on her shoulder, light but heavy all at once, and Aubrey stumbles, Mama catching her neatly and bundling her under her arm. 

“Where to?” she asks, barely above a whisper, and Aubrey manages to get her feet heading in the right direction again.

“Have -,” she starts, and her voice catches and dies. She swallows and starts over. “Have you ever brought Barclay to - to visit your mom?”

Mama hums. “No,” she says.

“Why not?” They take a right turn down a dirt path. 

“Couldn’t leave the Lodge alone, really. Had to have one of us there, at least. He met her, once,” Mama says, quiet. “She liked him, insomuch as she liked anyone who wasn’t me. ‘Bout all I could ask for.” If Mama notices that Aubrey’s started walking slower and slower, she kindly doesn’t mention it, although she does pull Aubrey in a little closer. Aubrey tries not to be too obvious about tucking her nose into Mama’s vest, trying to ground herself with the familiar sawdust and laundry detergent smell. “I love my mother, mind you. She was the best parent I could’ve asked for. But we were the same in more ways than not, and they ain’t all good.”

Aubrey finds it hard to believe that there’s anything about Mama that _ isn’t _ good, all noble intentions and willpower and generosity, a backbone of steel and gentle hands, but who is she to argue with Mama’s self assessment. 

They’re getting close now, and Aubrey feels Sylvain ping her, once, twice, a deep sense of grief from both within and beyond washing through her, a bit of loving, a bit of longing. Her hand comes up and grabs the pendant, and she sinks further into Mama’s side before shrugging her off.

The headstone looks the same, a quiet and solemn black piece of stone jutting from the earth like a baby’s first tooth poking from the gum. Aubrey stands at the foot of her grave in silence. _ A loving mother. We miss you more every day. _

_ “God,” _ she says suddenly, her voice sharp like an arrow puncturing the bubble of stillness. Her throat is tight, painful, and tears crawl hot down her cheeks. “I just - I can’t believe that _ this _ is all there fucking is.”

She can see Mama looking at her out of the corner of her blurring eyes, but she doesn’t reply.

“I _ know _ it was an _ accident _ and I can’t blame anyone or - or _ hate _ anyone,” She can see Ned’s thin scrawl on the Cryptonomica stationary, _ Aubrey, I want you to _ ** _hate me,_ ** and for a terrible moment she thinks she might actually throw up. It passes. “But it still hurts. It’s just _ me, _ living with how it feels, and I don’t have anywhere to _ put _ it or something I can _ do _ with it and it’s always just - just there! This is all there is! I’m tired. I’m _ tired _ and I never know what to _ do _ when I’m here. I can talk but she can’t hear me, and I always _ try _ but I never know what to _ say. _ It just sucks. It _ sucks!” _ She almost shouts the last word, and her voice bounces back off the nearby drooping willow tree. _ What a cliche, _ she thinks, unkindly, and regrets it immediately. It’s a nice tree, probably. Mama would know.

“Is willow a hardwood?” she asks Mama, pointing, wiping her eyes with her sleeve.

Mama’s known her long enough now to take her conversational jumps in stride. “Yeah,” she says, but she wiggles a hand back and forth as if to say _ meh. _ “Pretty wet though. Hard to work with. Likes to tear and gets fuzzy and hates dryin’ right.”

“Huh,” Aubrey replies, and decides that she doesn’t regret thinking that a willow is a stupid and cliche tree to put in a cemetery. Fuck that thing.

“I never know what to do when I go visit my mom either,” Mama confides, pulling a handkerchief out of her pocket and passing it to Aubrey. “I try to celebrate the stuff she did, tell her the stuff I’m doin’ that she’d like to hear ‘bout, but it’s harder when you’re lookin’ at the ground. Sometimes I’ll go sit in her favorite park instead. It’s easier to talk to her there.” 

Aubrey blows her nose and wipes her eyes again. 

“When my mom died,” Mama says, looking down at the ground, “I was a wreck. At first I could hardly get outta bed in the mornin’, slept all the time, and then I couldn’t make myself go to bed for the life of me. Worked myself to the bone and passed out wherever my body gave up on me. And I threw myself into monster huntin’ ‘cause it was my _ purpose, _ it was my _ callin’, _ and I didn’t care too much what happened to me anymore, ‘cause my momma was gone and somethin’ had gone fundamentally _ wrong _ with the universe. I almost got my dumb ass killed a few times, signin’ up to be bait and waiting ‘til the last second to make a shot or some such nonsense.” She pauses, wiping her eyes. “Barclay ‘n Thacker pulled me back. I wouldn’t’ve survived without them. You got people, kiddo, so lean on ‘em. Dani loves you, I love you, Barclay loves you, hell, the _ whole lodge _ does. You should talk to Jake, honestly. He doesn’t know what the hell he’s doin’ when it comes to advice, mind,” she says, and Aubrey chokes out a wet laugh. “He’ll tell you that himself, which is what makes him so great. That kind of earnestness is good for you. Don’t tear yourself apart tryin’ to put on a brave face or get over it. You _ won’t _ get over it, and that’s _ okay. _ You’ll heal around it. It’s like shrapnel, I think, the kind you can’t get out. Your body is gonna seal it over and it’s still gonna hurt you on rainy days or whenever it damn well feels like it, but it’s just a part of you now. You lived through it, it left a mark, and now you gotta live beyond it.”

Aubrey shuts her eyes for a long moment. “Yeah,” she says. “You’re right.”

“I know I didn’t really answer your question, earlier,” Mama continues, unzipping her vest and putting her hands in the pockets of her jeans. “It _ does _ get easier, I guess. Not in the ways people expect it to, or wish it would. But you’ll have a mothers day where you don’t cry,” she says, looking down at her boots - they’re brown cowboy boots, like she’s just stepped out of some country western movie, her jeans tucked neatly inside them. She sighs, heavy, like she’s emptying her lungs completely. “Eventually.”

Aubrey steps up carefully along the side of her mother’s little patch of dirt and grass, puts the flowers around where she’d guess her mother’s heart used to be, then walks back over to Mama, pulls her hand out of her pocket and threads their fingers together, her calluses rough against Aubrey’s palm. Aubrey wipes her eyes a few more times in the following minutes. Her mother always swung their hands when they held them while they were walking - she would do it with her dad, too, and she always kissed them on the lips, cheeks, and then foreheads for good measure when she said goodbye. She walked heels first, heavy, and Aubrey walks the same way. She can recall the sound the china cabinet would make when her mother walked by with perfect clarity, she finds. 

Cicadas scream in the trees, birds chatter back and forth to each other. Aubrey sniffles. There’s footsteps on the dirt pathway.

_ “Aubrey?” _ her father asks, and Aubrey turns, then freezes. 

He looks older, his hair gone from steel at the temples to almost completely white, deep lines around his eyes. He steps forward as she stares at him, uncomprehending, and she realizes - _ remembers, _ she’d forgotten in the nearly four years since they last saw each other - that she’s taller than him. Before she can make any conscious decisions she finds herself flinging her arms around his neck and sobbing into his shoulder as he wraps her up into a hug, crying with her. 

They’ve talked on the phone a few times since Aubrey moved in at the lodge, once since she’s moved to Sylvain, and somehow she had forgotten things like the fact that _ she can call him _ and _ he might like to see her _ and _ he’d probably visit her mother today too. _

He pulls back, breath still hitching, holding her face in both hands. “Aubrey,” he says again. “You’re... you’re here.”

“Yeah,” she says. “I’m sorry I didn’t call, I just - I forgot. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, “Don’t _ ever _ be sorry, baby girl. You’re here. You’re _ here. _ That’s good enough.”

“I’m here,” she agrees. He pulls her down so he can press a kiss to her forehead, and she takes a step back so she can blow her nose again, his hand staying on her elbow as though she might disappear if he’s not touching her

“Dad,” she says thickly, “This is, uh -,”

“Madeline,” Mama fills in quickly. “Madeline Cobb. It’s nice to meet you,” she says, shaking his hand, her grip firm. “You raised a lovely daughter.”

“Don’t,” Aubrey tells her, flapping the hand not holding the handkerchief at her. “I’ll start crying again.”

“Stuart,” her dad replies. “It’s - nice to meet you too.” He looks a bit like they’d come up from behind and bludgeoned him on the head with a bat. Aubrey’s struggling with the urge to slip herself back under Mama’s arm while also not wanting to make her dad feel bad - she just feels a little wobbly, and Mama’s good at holding her up. 

“Are you coming- how long are you in town for?” her father asks, eyes glued to her face. She’s glad he didn’t finish his first question, but having it half out there means she knows what he’s implying. _ Are you coming home? _

He’d asked that when she’d called him the first time, right after Yule, and it was by the grace of many productive hours spent in family therapy that it hadn’t devolved into a shouting match. It still hurts to hear - because she doesn’t want to, because she _ does, _ because she _ can’t, _ and because she doesn’t want to hurt him. 

“Just today,” she says, quiet, and he quickly wipes his eyes with the back of his hand, not fast enough to hide the flicker of disappointment and hurt she sees in his expression. “I have a, uh. Lot to get back to.”

She hasn’t told him about Sylvain, or Kepler, or the Lodge. Her story goes that she found a job in West Virginia and was staying with some friends she made, that she was busy, that she was safe, that she was happy. Later on she’d added that one of her friends had died of - her voice had broken on the lie - a heart attack, and then in their last call,_ I have a girlfriend now. You would like her. _ She hadn’t ever thought to bring up Mama, mostly because she wasn’t sure how she’d describe her. Mama is somewhere beyond the definition of friend and mentor, something near but not quite a parent.

“Your girlfriend,” he says softly. “Dani, right?” Aubrey nods. 

“We should... we should probably get going,” she mumbles, watching a ruby red dragonfly buzz over and land on her mother’s headstone. “It’s a long drive.”

_ “Wait,” _ he says, desperate, grip tightening on her elbow, “Have you gotten lunch? We can go to that pizza place you like, I’ll pay,” he takes a deep breath, then adds, “This isn’t me pressuring you, I just… I haven’t seen you, Aub. I want to see you.”

Aubrey looks back at Mama, who shrugs, putting her hands back in her pockets. “Up to you, kiddo. I’m sure I can find somethin’ to do.”

“You’re invited too,” he tells Mama, “If you would like. It’s - it’s up to you, Aubrey, I just… I missed you. I _ miss _ you.”

Aubrey suddenly feels like she’s 16 years old and just playing at being an adult - too many options and too little emotional development to help her figure it out. She shuts her eyes and rubs her forehead, feeling a headache building up at the base of her skull, the magnitude of which she knows is going to take her out at the knees at some point today. She and her dad love each other, she knows. They just have to make an effort to make that love work. She has to compromise.

“Okay,” she says. “Lunch. You should come too,” she says to Mama. She can cover up Aubrey’s slip ups about Sylvain or Kepler, if she makes any. 

Thankfully, he doesn’t seem too upset when she puts herself back under Mama’s arm rather than allowing him to lead her back to the parking lot. Mama squeezes her shoulder and presses a kiss to the top of her head when his back is turned.

Aubrey allows herself a look back - the dragonfly is still there, resting lightly atop the granite, her flowers still vibrant and fresh as though they’d just been picked. There’s subtle changes to the space, borne of Sylvain carefully exerting Her influence without Aubrey noticing - the grass is greener and longer, white clover and blue cornflower spreading over the grave.

“Thank you,” she mutters, quiet enough that nobody will hear it but herself. Sylvain gives her _ sorrow _ and _ love _ and _ regret _ and _ peace. _

That’s about all Aubrey can ask for.

-

The Cryptonomica is quiet as Aubrey uses her key to let herself in, long since closed for the day. It’s musty smelling and dark inside. She flicks the lights on, and they buzz as they illuminate the room, full of fake artifacts and taxidermied animals with things stuck on like antlers and scales. She’d helped Ned make a jackalope once, or, well, watched. She’d been too squeamish to actually touch it, but she sat on the countertop next to the cash register as he carefully took a scalpel to a slightly moth eaten, but salvageable, taxidermied hare’s head, cutting out two holes to put antlers onto. She’d mixed the epoxy for it, so that counted as help, probably.

She pauses by that counter as she creeps through the shop, looks around. Outside she can barely see his larger than life silhouette, lit up under the streetlamp like a spotlight, and there’s blood staining the floors - hers - that Kirby has tried to strategically cover with rugs. He’s got most of it hidden, but there’s a droplet here and there, soaked into the hardwood.

She’s angry at Ned again, something she flips back and forth on whenever she thinks about him. It’s a low fire curling against her ribcage, a bitter spark of heat at her fingertips.

“You’re an _ asshole,” _ she says aloud, staring at the statue out the window. “An _ asshole, _ you hear me Chicane?” Her voice bounces off the walls - there’s no reply. She sighs.

“But I wish you were here.” She fishes Mama’s handkerchief out of her pocket. “I could never hate you.”

Upstairs, she catches moonlight in a compact mirror and shines into the empty space where the new gate lies, unactivated and invisible. She can open it with magic, but she’d like to let that rest for now. It beckons her, a little slit in space and time, mass ripped apart and pinched back together. She looks around once more at Billy’s old room, and heads through, because Dani’s waiting up for her on the other side, keeping the bed warm. She needs someone to lean on.

**Author's Note:**

> hey go read something nice and funny and sweet now okay? go uplift yourself with something. ive written plenty of happy stuff. watch claire saffitz make oreos on the BA test kitchen or monster factory or something. i love you.  
you can find me at themlet on tumblr. comments and kudos make my day.


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